


tarantism

by hellalujah



Series: uncommon words - a collection of prompt fills [5]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellalujah/pseuds/hellalujah
Summary: (noun) the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scottkiras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottkiras/gifts).



> the most out of hand 'drabble' yet!! for [bean](http://seafrothy.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks to h for checking this over
> 
> soundtrack: [leon vynehall - goodthing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZP7oy6O7hrU)

“It's not… it's not like that between us, Hugo,” Porter's saying awkwardly and all Hugo can do is stare. “We’re friends. We're _best friends_ and…”

He trails off and looks away. He looks sad. Hugo feels guilty.

“It's alright,” says Hugo even though it's really, really not. “It's alright, I understand.” It’s not alright and he doesn’t understand but he smiles, bright and wide. “I still want to be friends, if you'll have me.”

Porter's gaze shoots back up to Hugo's face so fast it’s like he’s been electrocuted. “Of course! Shit, I can’t imagine not having you around and just-,” He reaches out with one hand and then freezes with his hand hovering in mid-air.

“It’s alright,” Hugo says again, clapping Porter on the shoulder with a little more force than is necessary. Porter’s hand drops back to his side. He’s smiling tentatively now, like he really believes it when Hugo says it’s okay.

Hugo grits his teeth and smiles back at him.

\---

He drinks his way through the show that night.

There’s no afterparty this time and normally Hugo would be unhappy about it but right now he just wants the day to be over.

He’d really thought Porter had felt the same way. Some part of him keeps insisting that Porter’s lying to him. That he’s lying to himself.

Hugo had been _so sure_.

They finish the performance and they hug on stage like they always do and Hugo’s been drinking vodka out of his water bottle the whole night so it’s not as hard as it could be.

He’s supposed to go outside with Porter, say hello to the fans like they always do but the excuses pour from his lips so easily; he’s getting sick again, he’s tired, he’s sorry but he really just needs to lay down.

What he really needs right now is a cigarette.

He snatches up a beer from the green room on his way out and tucks it into his jacket pocket. The halls are empty and he manages to avoid running into anyone else as he’s weaving through the venue, gets to an emergency exit and shoves it open with his hip. And then he stops, there in the doorway.

A familiar face is staring up at him from the alleyway and it takes a blurry, drunken second for him to figure it out.

“Mat,” he says.

They’ve met a handful of times. They’re friendly acquaintances at best and Hugo knows he used to be _very_ close with Porter and a nauseous wave of jealousy crests in his stomach.

He forces a smile onto his face. He’s getting tired of faking it.

“Hi,” says Mat.

Hugo's descent down the stairs is unsteady and he nearly trips but he manages to turn it into an exaggerated little turn once his foot hits the pavement. Mat’s still watching him warily when he pulls the beer out of his pocket and cracks it open.

“Did you watch the show?” he says before he can think about it and Mat nods slowly.

“You guys were great,” he says and it sounds sincere, if a little flat. Mat looks… Hugo can’t really decipher the expression on his face. It's tense and guarded and it makes Hugo want to frown.

He smiles at him instead. Mat’s mouth does something that looks like it was maybe meant to be a smile but that falls flat too.

It’s very quiet, out in the alley.

“Were you waiting for Porter, then?” he says, because he has no idea what else to talk about.

Mat flinches and shakes his head. “No, uh.” He looks away, runs a hand through his hair. His cheeks are pink and Hugo had never really noticed before - had never really allowed himself to look at anyone but Porter, he thinks wryly - but he’s actually quite good looking. “I called an Uber,” Mat manages eventually and it looks like it’s an effort to get himself to look back at Hugo. “I was just… waiting for that.”

They’re quiet for another moment and Hugo takes a sip of his beer.

“We’re not exactly close anymore. Me and Porter, I mean,” Mat goes on when the silence stretches too long and he shrugs. His hands keep fluttering down to his pockets like he's looking for something or like he needs something to do and Hugo reaches belatedly into his pocket for his cigarettes.

He puts one in his mouth, hands one to Mat and Mat stares at it for a second before Hugo offers up a lighter.

They smoke in silence and it could almost be comfortable. Hugo takes another sip of his beer and then sighs.

“I confessed to him tonight,” he says and it's meant to come out casual but it sounds sharp and bitter. Mat doesn't look shocked. He doesn’t look like he’s surprised at all.

“I take it it didn't go well,” he says blandly and Hugo thinks he should be angry about Mat's tone.

He's pretty sure this is something they've got in common, though. Hugo laughs. “No, it really did not.”

Mat watches him with sharp, dark eyes. The intensity is a little unbearable so Hugo takes a swig of his beer and then passes it over to Mat. But he doesn’t look away when he takes a drink, doesn’t look away when he passes it back.

Hugo drains it and drops the empty can in the dumpster next to him.

“Do you know any good clubs?” he asks, tossing his cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it with his heel. “I’m going to go out, I think.”

Mat drops his butt as well, opens his mouth to respond just as a car pulls into the alley and his mouth stays half open as the guy in the car rolls down his window and calls Mat’s name.

Hugo tilts his head and smiles. “Is that a no?”

Mat makes an impatient little noise and his brows knit together. “Let’s go,” he mumbles, waving vaguely at the car with one arm. “I’ll take you out.”

“What?”

They’re both silent for a moment. Hugo stares and puzzles and tries to piece together the situation, to piece together _Mat._

“Are you getting in or not,” says the driver impatiently and Mat shoots Hugo a look.

“Yeah, are you getting in or not,” he echoes.

Hugo laughs from deep in his chest. “Yes, yeah, alright.”

\---

It’s almost one when they pull up to the club and the line is down the block. Hugo glances over at Mat but Mat’s already shoving him busily out of the car.

“I know the guys that run the place,” he’s muttering. “Go around through the alley.”

There’s a man at the door out back and he nods like he recognizes them - or just Mat, Hugo thinks hazily - but Mat leads them past the door and around behind a dumpster and Hugo wonders distantly if hanging out by garbage cans is just a thing Mat does.

And then Mat’s pulling a sort of squashed little joint out of his wallet and frowning down it, trying to straighten it out before he sticks it in his mouth.

“Do you smoke weed?” Mat asks as he lights up. His words come out in a puff of smoke that Hugo watches dissipate in the night air before he glances back at Mat’s face, lit up by the flare of the joint.

“No,” says Hugo, reaching out anyway.

\---

“I just really thought he felt the same, you know?” Hugo shouts over the music as the bartender passes over their shots. “I was so sure he wasn’t, you know, straight.”

Mat snorts with enough force that he almost knocks over his tequila. “Porter’s about as straight as spaghetti.”

Hugo stares at him blurrily for a second, and he’s not sure if it’s the weed or the alcohol or the language barrier but he has _no_ idea what Mat’s trying to say. “What does that mean?” he asks eventually and Mat rolls his eyes.

“Straight until things get hot,” he says dryly before he takes his shot and Hugo barks out a laugh, and then he can’t _stop_ laughing. He’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe and then Mat’s punching him in the shoulder.

“Take your shot, oh my god,” Mat yells and when Hugo manages to look up at him he’s grinning, face tight like he’s trying not to laugh too.

Hugo takes his shot with a smile and then grabs Mat around the arm.

“Come dance with me,” he says, voice rasping through the burn of tequila.

Mat’s saying something about how he ‘doesn’t dance’, something Hugo dismisses as he drags Mat out onto the floor. The beat’s pounding through him and it feels _good_ , it feels fantastic to be in the crowd for once instead of onstage and he loves performing, he really does, but he needed this so badly.

He’s heavy with the weed, warm with liquor and he loses himself to the beat for what feels like an eternity. His body moves almost automatically, arms over his head, hips swaying. It feels so good, just him and the music.

Eventually he forces his eyes open and it feels like it’s been hours but it can’t have been more than one song because Mat’s standing there still with a beer in his hand, swaying in place and nodding to the beat.

“You’re not _dancing,_ ” Hugo says and Mat glares up at him.

“I don’t _dance,_ ” he snipes back.

Hugo grins. “Everyone dances,” he coos and then he’s wrapping an arm around Mat’s waist, pulling him in and guiding their hips together.

Mat’s flushing and looking pointedly away as Hugo starts to sway again, one hand sort of tucked against his stomach and the other still clutching his beer and sticking out awkwardly to the side. He glances up at Hugo and then sighs and chugs the rest of his drink.

“Fucking fine,” Mat mutters, barely loud enough for Hugo to hear over the music but then Mat’s slinging his free arm around Hugo’s shoulders and moving with him in earnest.

Hugo laughs. He’s got no rhythm and it’s adorable.

“What kind of DJ dances this badly?” Hugo says in his ear and Mat smacks him in the side of the head with an open palm. But he's laughing and then letting his hand come to rest on the back of Hugo’s neck and Hugo’s laughing too.

If dancing alone had felt good, dancing with Mat feels amazing. It feels so good to be this close to someone, to be drunk and stoned and to have the music flowing through him. The club air is warm and heavy against his bare arms and Mat’s radiating heat and Hugo presses their cheeks together. Closes his eyes.

They sway and sway and if they’re a little off-beat it doesn’t matter.

Mat mumbles something in his ear and Hugo doesn’t know how long it’s been but he pulls back dazedly to look. Everything is still so hazy and Mat’s looking up at him with dark, heavy eyes, mouth parted just a little like he’s going to say something and in the dim glow of the club lights he looks so lovely Hugo’s chest hurts.

Hugo tightens his arm around Mat’s waist.

If he were to tilt his head and _squint_ Mat could almost look like Porter. Dark eyes, gorgeous mouth. It’s not all the same; Porter’s nose is beaky and Mat’s nose is, well, something else. And Mat’s so much shorter and -

Hugo stops himself. It’s not fair to think like that, not to Porter, not to Mat. Not to himself.

He leans in and he kisses Mat. He kisses him and he thinks about kissing _him_ , not Porter.

A hot tongue slips into Hugo’s mouth and fingers twist into his hair and Hugo can’t bring himself to care that he’s one of _those_ people making out in the middle of the club. It feels good. It feels so good to hold and be held, to kiss and be kissed.

Everything goes a little blurrier after that.

Things come in flashes - kissing on the dancefloor, sharing a cigarette outside the club - and eventually one of them manages to pile them both into an Uber and then they're kissing again.

Mat's hands are cold where they're pressing against Hugo's neck but his mouth is so, so warm.

\---

Hugo wakes up in hazy stages.

The first thing he notices is that he’s not in his hotel room, but he did somehow make it into a bed.

The second thing he notices is there’s a cat curled up on his stomach. He watches it blearily until it blinks open its eyes and yawns expansively, stands and starts to knead his stomach through his t-shirt.

“Ow.” He waves an arm weakly at the cat and moving is making him nauseous but it _hurts_. “Arrête, va t’en!”

“What the fuck,” mumbles a voice just under Hugo’s armpit.

Hugo turns his head.

Mat’s peering up at him, face half hidden by Hugo’s chest. Hugo doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed him there first - his arm is curled around Mat, hand resting on his waist, and Mat’s nose is pressing into his ribs.

“Oh,” says Hugo. “Hello.”

Mat doesn’t respond apart from an irritated groan and then he’s heaving himself up out of Hugo’s grasp, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of one palm.

“Fuck tequila,” he mutters, squinting at his hands for a second and then at the clock. He glances over at Hugo. “Did you have anywhere to be today? It’s like almost eleven.”

Hugo sits up fast enough that the cat makes an angry noise and leaps off his stomach. It glares at him indignantly as it comes around to lay down again on the other side of Mat and Mat starts to scratch its head absently.

“So yes, then?” he says dryly.

“I should be… alright,” Hugo says as he swings his legs out of bed. His head is pounding and his stomach is roiling but when he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment it seems to subside, just a bit. “I don’t need to be anywhere until noon and-,” He pauses and cracks his eyes open again, looks at Mat over his shoulder. “It won’t take that long to get back downtown, will it?”

Mat shakes his head and for a second Hugo thinks he might be smiling. It passes almost immediately, though, and then Mat’s climbing out of bed as well.

Hugo calls an Uber to the address Mat gives him and he can’t seem to find his coat anywhere but his shoes are in a heap near the front door so at least there’s that. Hazily he thinks he might have left his jacket draped over the bar in the club.

They stand awkwardly in the front hall while he waits for his Uber to call him back. Mat seems to be making a point of looking everywhere but Hugo’s face.

Hugo clears his throat.

“If you’re ever in France,” he starts a little lamely and Mat frowns.

“Don’t,” he mutters. Hugo thinks it’s meant to come out louder, angrier. But Mat just looks tired. “You don’t have to do that, really.”

Hugo watches him silently for a moment before he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Mat in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he says against Mat's hair. His eyes have fallen closed and Mat smells like cigarettes and beer and a little bit like weed and it feels somehow familiar so Hugo hauls in another breath. “Really. Last night was… really fantastic. Thank you.”

Mat hums into his shoulder and for a moment Hugo thinks he's going to push him away but then Mat's arm is snaking around his waist and squeezing.

“Yeah,” Mat mumbles. “It was good.”

Hugo forces himself to pull away and this time he doesn't have to force the smile onto his lips. “I mean it, if you're ever in France-,”

Mat rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. And if you're ever in LA…” He shrugs and looks away.

Hugo grins. “I'll call you.”

“Cool,” says Mat, and he’s definitely smiling when Hugo walks out the door.


End file.
